


The Wolf

by pleasesir



Category: Van Helsing (2004)
Genre: BDSM, Begging, Collars, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 02:10:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15329388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasesir/pseuds/pleasesir
Summary: Velkan has been under Dracula’s control for three months when he is first forced to his knees, with Dracula’s hand to his chin. The nails are long, the index digging into Velkan’s skin and he wants tobite, to rend and tear flesh, but he cannot.





	The Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> literally could not believe that no one did a fic where velkan got bossed around and fucked up and collared by dracula...like my dudes an obedient werewolf and he's all pretty and shit and dracula wears a lot of black and likes to show off his wives the story p much wrote itself. shame on the rest of you perverts for not writing this

Velkan has been under Dracula’s control for three months when he is first forced to his knees, with Dracula’s hand to his chin. The nails are long, the index digging into Velkan’s skin and he wants to _bite_ , to rend and tear flesh, but he cannot. Something inside of him, something doglike and panting, rolls over and begs when Dracula is near. He…understands why the wives are as obsessed as they are. He looks at Dracula, and hundreds of years of his family scream hatred. But the wolf inside wants.

“Do you wish to hurt me?” Dracula asks, grinning. Velkan shakes his head. “It’s been _bred_ into you, to want to kill me,” Dracula continues, pulling Velkan’s head back by the hair. Velkan grunts, swallowing, but doesn’t pull away. He’s hard, he knows he’s hard, and Dracula probably knows it, too. “What else has been bred into you, I wonder?” 

“ _Fuck off_.” 

Dracula tsks, letting go of Velkan’s chin. “So rude. For that, I want you to shift and steal me a villager. My wives are hungry.” 

“I hate you,” Velkan says through his teeth as they try to burst from his gums, a garbled mix of wolf and man. 

“No, you don’t, puppy,” Dracula says almost fondly as Velkan falls forward, shifting into the wolf, whining.  
+  
+  
Velkan knew, after he ran to tell his sister of Dracula’s weakness, that something like this would happen; he’s stretched out on a table with his arms over his head, legs held down as well. He can see his chest move with his own rapid, scared breaths.

When Dracula’s henchmen brought him here, the sun was high. Now, it’s dipping below the horizon, and Velkan knows Dracula will be awake soon. Is it finally time for Velkan to die? He thinks of his sister, the last of their family, living on without him, and begins sweating. 

His chest is gleaming in the torchlight when Dracula finally comes in, followed by the cruelest of his wives, Aleera. Velkan strains against the leather straps holding him down, to no avail. Dracula trails a hand over his chest, pinches Velkan’s nipple to make him yelp. “Sensitive,” Dracula says to Aleera, who grins. She fluffs her skirts, settling in the wooden chair that’s been in the corner since Velkan was brought in here. “Shall I begin?” 

“Fuck you,” Velkan spits; he says it so often lately, it feels natural in his mouth.

“I wonder what you would do if I tried,” Dracula says, one hand disappearing behind his back. Velkan cranes his neck to see, but cannot. Dracula’s other hand still rests on his chest, and Aleera is watching with glittering eyes, her fangs out. “I have a present for you.” 

“I don’t want anything from you,” Velkan says, expecting Dracula to pull out a whip, more chains, maybe a knife. He tenses, preparing himself, but all Dracula has is a heavy leather collar, held together by a shining silver loop. 

“Look, puppy. He got you a leash,” Aleera teases, earning herself a smile from Dracula.

Velkan has the sudden feeling that if that goes around his neck, he will _die_. The wolf can’t abide being chained. Velkan will _die_. He’s breathing hard through his nose in little puffs, like a man in the utmost pain. “Stop. _No_ ,” he hisses, thrashing, bruising his skin against the straps. “Don’t…You can’t.” 

“I can. Relax,” Dracula says, almost kind. His voice is a caress, when he wants it to be. The wolf pants, acquiesced for now. Dracula reduces it to something obedient, utterly loyal. Velkan lies still as Dracula moves to stand behind him, his long, pale fingers stroking across Velkan’s throat, his Adam’s apple. He swallows. The collar is laid across his throat, a heavy weight that is only barely not suffocating, and Dracula fastens it with quick, business-like motions. 

When it’s done, Aleera comes to peer at him as well. She must find it good enough, because she beams. “He looks so handsome, my love!” 

“He can’t run away, now. The collar will never come off.” Dracula taps it with one claw, the metal singing. He and Aleera both laugh. Velkan can only lie there, the weight of the collar compressing his throat.  
+  
+  
Dracula likes to fuck his wives while Velkan is watching. He’ll leash Velkan to the wall of his bedchambers, and he’ll call for his wives. Usually Aleera, who enjoys cruel games the most, sometimes Marishka, who shrieks like an angry cat when she comes. Or Verona, who likes to lock eyes with Velkan while Dracula fucks her from behind. She’ll stare, dark and hot, til Velkan feels like he’s moving through syrup, arousal settling low in his belly, before she’ll turn to Dracula and claw down his back.

They must…they must know how long it’s been since Velkan was touched. They must know how hard it is for Velkan to watch Dracula drag his red mouth over perfect skin, to see Marishka yowl with pleasure as Dracula holds her arms down and Verona’s dark hair bends between her thighs. 

He always ends up hard, hurting with it, his cock swollen and untouchable. He can’t. Not when he knows Dracula could be watching. _Would_ be watching. He loves to see Velkan humiliated. He loves to tuck his fingers under Velkan’s collar, proprietary, and drag him to the room he shares with the wives. “Watch this, puppy,” he’ll say, grinning. “Maybe you’ll learn something.” And every time he’ll send Velkan off to bed after, cock heavy between his thighs, til Velkan learns to bite his fist and get himself off, quick and rough. He’s never quite sure whether he’s thinking of Dracula, or the wives.  
+  
+  
It’s never good to be dragged before Dracula. Worse, when it’s Velkan, Dracula’s favorite plaything, Dracula’s collar around his neck. “You needed me?” he asks, dully. He’s kneeling, the stone floor sending shivering aches up his knees. 

“I wanted you,” Dracula corrects, striding towards Velkan and kneeling to face him, hooking his fingers through Velkan’s collar to pull his face close. “I want your fire back. I need to _feel_ ,” he breathes against Velkan’s mouth. Velkan shudders, closing his eyes. The wolf is pleased by this closeness, this attention. In his head, its tongue lolls.  
Dracula is stroking his fingers over the band of Velkan’s pants now, touching underneath at his bare stomach, grabbing at the hairs that lead to Velkan’s cock. He huffs, snarls. Doesn’t say no. Not even when Dracula kisses him, more teeth than kindness, Velkan’s blood dripping from his cut lip and down his chin. Dracula laves it away, darts his tongue into Velkan’s mouth, tasting. “Like fine wine. Beautiful boy,” he murmurs, shoving Velkan’s pants down, over his thighs. Velkan wishes he wasn’t hard, wishes he wasn’t panting wetly into Dracula’s mouth as Dracula thumbs over the head of his cock. Oversensitive, Velkan tries to flinch away, but Dracula squeezes. “Stay.” 

“I don’t…I…” It’s been so _long_ since someone last touched him. He bends his head to Dracula’s shoulder, bites the heavy fabric there. Dracula is soothing at his ear, whispering praise, kissing the vulnerable skin Velkan’s hair usually covers. All while his hand moves on Velkan’s cock, sure and firm, the squelching noises humiliating in the echoing great hall. Surely the wives are watching. Surely they’ll _laugh_. Or maybe they’ll understand, as Dracula tugs Velkan’s head back using the collar and licks up his throat, asks, “Do you want to come?”

He sounds so kind. Velkan is enthralled, is lost, can feel his heartbeat in his cock. He’s not strong enough to deny. “ _Yes_ , please,” he begs, shameless. 

Dracula kisses his chin, his eye, his temple. “Then you may.” Velkan comes in a hot rush that surges up from his toes, spills over Dracula’s fingers, making the slide smoother, wetter. He’s crying, he realizes. Mostly relief, some shame. Dracula licks at his fingers, grinning, and moves inhumanly fast to sink his teeth into Velkan’s throat. He pulls back a moment later, wiping his chin. Velkan can only pant and stare. His legs are like lead. He hasn’t even summoned up the ability to pull his pants over his cock. He must look pathetic.  
But Dracula is smiling, softer than he’s ever been before, and he strokes Velkan’s hair as he gets to his feet. Velkan almost knows what’s coming, but whines anyway when Dracula bends down and whispers, “Good dog.”


End file.
